Light Within
by TSBlack
Summary: Adrian Veidt is presiding over the peaceful beginnings of life after his massacre. When a dynamic girl named Eira Craig enters his business and his life, the world’s smartest man must tango with the world’s most enigmatic woman. ON HIATUS :
1. Chapter 1

There is a room full of glass that lets in the dull cloudy light of New York City under the threat of snow. A camera flashes as Adrian Veidt turns from the slate of the sky to the man who has been doing most of the talking for the past half hour.

"Excuse me, I didn't quite hear the last question, Mr. Wolfe," he explains distantly, as if in a slight trance.

"I asked whether or not you are planning on sending help to the Chinese. They have been considered a rising power, and politicians are very concerned with keeping the United States in good trust with them, and it's possible that moving some funds from Veidt International to Beijing, since your company has yet to be established there, will improve foreign relations," the reporter repeats, gesturing with calculated enthusiasm.

"It is possible," Adrian replies, an uncharacteristically short answer as most of his have been this dull grey morning. The reporter, Mr. Wolfe, heaves about in his seat a little with frustration. His assistant looks at him with a shrug.

"Well, Mr. Veidt, thank you for your time today. I need you to sign a release form, of course," Wolfe says with resignation coloring his voice.

"As if we will use this one at all," mumbles the assistant under his breath. Adrian, who hears every syllable the assistant speaks, scrawls his name with less flourish than usual, and turns to his snippy blonde secretary.

"You have a meeting, sir," she says in her high voice that grates on his nerves. But not an eyelash flickers out of place as he nods and sees the reporters and photographers out.

"It's your new Head of Micromanagements, sir," the secretary explains, leading the tall blonde man towards his boardroom. "She has been briefed and awaits your instructions."

"Thank you," he says with mechanical politeness as he opens the black door and enters a black room where the walls are as smooth and as glassy as mirrors. An equally frictionless black table surrounded by chairs upholstered in pale grey centers the room, and the figure of a woman in a black suit looks out the single wall of windows towards the sky. Snowflakes begin to fall, at first tiny and drifting but visibly growing larger and swirling as the wind picks up.

"Welcome, Miss Craig," Adrian says, his voice still somewhat blank and his mind still evidently elsewhere. The woman turns, revealing a tumbling cascade of nearly-black hair and eyes almost as grey as the sky that seem to pierce all that she sees. He is stunned by her beauty, but even more by her demeanor. She holds herself upright and seems very businesslike, yet the air around her seems to crackle and then fade into her form, a mystifying aura seems thrown about her. She sits at a seat on his right hand, her back to the wall of glass. She produces a briefcase from beneath the table and presents Adrian with a folder.

"Good morning, Mr. Veidt. This is an update on all of your subsidiaries as of yesterday at midnight," she says to him, and if her presence did not shake him out of his trance then her voice certainly did. It was no extraordinary voice in and of itself, only lush and deep and a kindness after the high trill of his secretary, but the words were very strange to his ears. They seem to grow sharp and then fade, muddy out. They touch his mind clearly and break its fog.

There is a moment of drawn out silence, in which he looks at her with clumsily concealed confusion, and it is broken when she asks, "Mr. Veidt?"

"I apologize," he says, shaking out of his churning thoughts. "I have been rather preoccupied all day. This is very good, for your first meeting," he commends her, looking over the papers in the folder.

"Thank you, sir,"

"Call me Adrian," he says, with a smile that strikes her as both genuine and manipulative.

"Are your famous wiles at work, then, Adrian?" she asks, and there is a smirk playing across her face. He hides his surprise at her boldness under a lifted eyebrow.

"I have no conscious wiles, I assure you, to put to work upon you, madam."

"Mademoiselle," she corrects with a smile that is more genuine.

"Mademoiselle," Adrian concedes, with his own smile. "My first task for you is to research Beijing. We have no subsidiaries in China except for one in Hong Kong, and someone has just mentioned to me the importance of relations with the Chinese."

"There are going to be some Americans who frown on us helping the Chinese, possibly some very influential ones." she says perceptively.

"That is possible. But I want to please the leaders of this world, not its money mongering executives." The grey-eyed woman nods.

"I understand, Mr. Ve – Adrian." He smiles at her.

"Thank you, Miss Craig." He considers her for a moment, sitting with her back straight in the grey chair with all of her hair over one shoulder. Then he rises, and she rises with him. "I am certain you will do a thorough job," he says, and exits the dark boardroom. The woman watches the door as it closes and stares after him, thoughtful. The snow picks up to a swift flurry outside.


	2. Chapter 2

I have always been aware of my own magnetism. I can't seem to escape it, actually. I draw people in, sometimes intentionally but it seems like mostly unintentionally. And even worse, lately, I can't seem to sucker up the ones I want- and the ones I really don't want find me fascinating. Like Mr. Veidt. 'Call me Adrian.' What the hell was that about?

It certainly is not that I don't find him to be an attractive man. He works at it, the whole being attractive thing. It's difficult not to find him so. But I don't want to have that awkwardness within my business relations- what with all the shit at Pyramid I had to put up with to get up and out and into Veidt International. Coworker to coworker and employer to employee intrigues are not an amusing part of the business world. Each little office has its dirty secrets, its microcosm of foolishness. And I have danced through every level of office.

The strange thing is, I am not entirely certain if he likes me at all, actually. He's so very charismatic all of the time, and quite purposefully. How does a snake trust the charmer? And does he lead me to reward or to sudden death, is the real question.

Am I slithering towards a promotion or an expulsion?

I would not put investigating his employees closely past Mr. Veidt. He is, after all, the world's smartest man.

* * *

Then the phone rang. I was in no mood to answer it, but it was only four-fifty. I am obligated to work until five.

"Hello?"

"Mrs. Craig, I have some information for you about the state of Beijing," I sighed. At least it's not an implosion at the last minute.

"Go ahead, Dobbs, tell me what you've got,"

"There is only one part of the city that remained unaffected by the Manhattan Incident, the northernmost area. Seeing as the rebuilding will encourage more nationalism and the rebuilt area of the city is likely to be larger and more populated than the northern parts, it would be best to wait until reconstruction to plan for a building in Beijing." My mind is racing. There are certainly more proactive ways to get involved with Beijing than to sit and wait for the city to rebuild itself.

"We need to get involved with cleanup, Dobbs. That's going to both plant us firmly in the heart of newly rebuilt Beijing and show the Chinese that we are beyond willing to help," I said.

"How?" Dobbs asked. I rolled my eyes in frustration.

"Get me a list of every major corporation involved in the Beijing cleanup and restoration efforts, and if necessary get in contact with the Chinese government. I want to see who is working and what they are working on if at all possible,"

"I've got that, ma'am," Dobbs said. At least he wasn't the type to sit and fret about my instructions.

"Get whoever you can from all of our subsidiaries worldwide working on this for the next twelve hours, at least. I want this list on my desk tomorrow morning," I ordered. I felt the delicious, guilty feeling of power that comes with having your own employees. But it was less that someone was working for me and more that someone else was doing the work for me, which made me happy to climb the insignificant social ladders I had to to get here, in Adrian Veidt's lap.

"Got it, ma'am. I will make sure that someone is working on this at all times," Dobbs affirmed. I watched the minute hand on my ancient desk clock slide into four fifty-five and smiled.

"Thank you, Dobbs. Have a good night,"

"You too, ma'am," He hung up. I thought about where I was and all of the perfectly honest work I had done to get there. Never had I slept with a male boss, blackmailed a fellow ladder-climbing coworker, or any of the other cubicle gossiper's fodder that made fools out of seemingly respectable men or demeaned women everywhere. My ineffable charm got me into the good favor of mostly everyone, and got my ass pushed up the ladder another rung.

Until here I sat, Adrian Veidt's Head of Micromanagements. I think my father would have been proud.

The problem is that I do like Adrian. And I think I let it slip this morning. That sort of thing should not be happening. I should not be letting my guard down that much. I am slipping...


	3. Chapter 3

She is just as lovely the next day. Yes, she is a strange one. But unbelievably good at her job.

* * *

"I've had some of your international Micro people working on this all night, and they came up with what I have been told is a fairly comprehensive list of corporations involved with the cleanup in Beijing," she said, handing me one of her neatly organized folders. Inside are papers with information that I don't really need to read, but I mimed it anyway, to maintain a professional atmosphere. Business is always first.

"This is very good, Miss Craig. Are you suggesting mergers with these companies and our extended financial aid to China?" I asked, and I steal a look at her eyes, which are sharp. Unbelievably sharp. I'm not entirely sure about them yet.

"Mergers, business agreements, deals, anything really. My assistant has informed me that only a northern area of the city survived intact and the rest to be rebuilt, more grand and advanced than the old Beijing. If we can secure some land area there to build offices and get our foot firmly in, we will be well established in China business-wise. Besides that, our help will be looked on as America's willingness to extend an alliance to the Chinese, keeping things peaceful in the Far East." Her last words took on a sense of poetry, even though they are perfectly straightforward business words. She was imbedding everything with a depth that I was unused to within my glass walls that looked all of New York City in the face. People were cold and exacting in skyscrapers, and intimate elsewhere. But she seemed to burn with intensity wherever she was.

"I will probably have to get my Communications board to contact some of these corporations, then. They will be hesitant to share bounty," I said, my mind running swiftly over a few possibilities.

"Some may want to hear from you personally, Mr. V – Adrian," She falters, barely. But even in that second of revelation, I can't really tell what she is feeling. Only, that she is feeling something. And she is trying desperately to hide it. "You've been very open with the public before, they might expect you to be almost lavish with them," I turned these thoughts over in my mind and realized that she was studying me. Paying attention, as so few do.

"You have a point. I will send impartial letters first, and if that doesn't get a real response it's always possible to lure them in. Though, really, there is no trap," I pondered, flipping through the last of the papers and closing the folder. Her eyes were shimmering in a way that suggested that she wanted to disagree with me. And I wanted her to disagree as well.

"What?" I asked. I dropped my guard for a moment, but kept alert. Something in me wanted to argue with her. "You think there is a trap?"

"Well…" she begins, and fails to conceal a small smile. "There is always the possibility that you may absorb them, may dangle riches before them and exchange their continuation for control of their company."

"You think I would do that, Miss Craig? I would feed fat old men caviar in exchange for their machines?" I prodded. There was a young boy in me that was snickering in delight.

"It's perfectly possible that you would," she replied, giving me a look that challenged me with the calm ferocity of a lioness.

"I am an honorable man, what honor lies in bribing other men? You think it would serve me to stoop to such a level?" Part of me actually wanted to know her answer. The other part was rushed with adrenaline. Another small part was beginning to realize how blatantly I was throwing myself before her.

"It is more honorable from certain points of view to bribe a corrupt man out of his business and resume it with justice than it is to allow a greedy near-sighted executive to continue operating a corporation that was doing more good for him than anyone else in this world," she said, and her words held a kind of sharpness that crackled and the faded. I was stunned, for a moment, by this answer, because it was exactly what I was thinking but certainly not what I expected her to say. Was it that we thought alike, or that she could see how I was thinking? I wanted to say the former, but the possibility of the latter was more disturbing to me than it had ever been. I had never met someone so wholly unreadable, who seemed to read me with ease.

"That's a very… interesting thesis, Miss Craig. Probably a true one," I fumbled. Snapping back into myself, regaining control, I straightened the folder and its papers and rose form my seat. She followed suit and looked just a little thrown off.

"Er… thank you, sir," she said, and the words were quiet and rolling in direct contrast to her bristly argument.

"You have done exceedingly well in your first two days in Micromanagements, Miss Craig. I hope that this efficiency continues," I continued, resuming my businesslike air.

"I will certainly do all I can to ensure that it does," she said, holding her briefcase tightly at her side. She was looking at me with something strange in her face, as if an inner conflict was raising her hackles slightly.

"Thank you," I said, nodded to her, and took my leave. It felt good to push the heavy black door open, to see the blank and depthless face of my secretary looking at me, waiting to relay the times of my next meeting. She spoke, I responded, it was all surface and mechanical, and for a moment I reveled in it.

* * *

My mind stays with her, though. More than I like. Unless it is possible to make this intensity work to my advantage, I'm not sure how I'll get through it.

And there will be no more purposeful bickering with Miss Craig, either.


	4. Chapter 4

I fucking did it again. I let the conversation get carried away.

Was be baiting me, though?

I thought maybe he was.

I don't know, I don't know.

Thankfully, our next meeting is unscheduled until he hears back from Communications.

Though, I may drive myself mad before then.


	5. Chapter 5

"Is it possible for me to get some information on our new Micro director, Miss Craig?" The room is cramped and I hate the feeling of it because it has no windows, just Greg's little desk and computer and the chair that I sat in across from him.

"I can run a search for you, sir," he says, typing hastily and looking intently at the screen as it flashes. I watched his eyes dash from left to right with uncommon speed, as if he's seen little else in his life but that black screen flashing white letters.

"What would you like to know?" he asked, poised at the keyboard to type.

"Just her basics," I replied. Clicking, humming, his eyes dashing.

"Eira Jane Craig, twenty-seven years old, born on October thirty-first. Five foot six, one hundred and thirty five pounds, brown hair, grey eyes, a birthmark on her right hip. Born in Ithaca, New York," I turned the words over in my mind; nothing extraordinary.

"Parents?" I inquired further. Clicking, humming, eyes dashing. Silence. The eyes stand stiff.

"That's very odd…" Greg murmured.

"What?" I asked, feeling my curiosity bubble.

"There's no record of who her parents were. But there's also no record of her living in an orphanage or being adopted, either," he explained, his voice growing more confused with each word.

"Why not?" I demanded.

"I don't know, sir. It could be that someone wiped this part of her file, and I could get into public records and check," he offered.

"Do that," I barked, rubbing my chin with confusion and sinking into thought as the clicking and humming resumed. Who was she, if her parents were kept secret?

"Got it, sir. There's nothing on her public file about them either. In fact, she doesn't even have a folder for family in her public file."

"What about her past employment record?"

"Oh, that's all here. It starts when she worked at a diner when she was sixteen, a bar in college, and moved into an office after college. She started in Pyramid and got promoted very quickly until she was managing the Human Resources Committee at Pyramid and was sent here only a year and a half later. It took her two years of moving up in Veidt International to get to Head of Micromanagements," I felt myself laugh as her face swam into my thoughts.

"That doesn't surprise me at all. She's exceptionally good at what she is doing," Greg looked at me awkwardly, with badly concealed skepticism.

"She's a bit superhuman, sir. I've never seen anyone as young as her move from almost nobody to Human Resources Manager of one company and then only two years later an entire department coordinator of its parent."

"I suppose it can be done, Greg. By the way, has Communications reported yet?" I asked, unconcerned with his criticism.

"Nary a peep, sir. You're going to have to get creative to win those guys," he said, logging off of the network as the clock in the hallway chimed five PM. I felt slight irritation, but ignored it. It wasn't Greg's fault at any rate. I ran over things to do in my mind.

"What do you think of a party, Greg? For all of the executives of those companies and their wives, and all of my department coordinators? Maybe even some people from Pyramid?"

"I think it sounds posh indeed, sir. Those old sleaze balls will probably go for it," he replied, grinning as a donned his coat. I rose from my chair.

"I might have to arrange that, then, if that's what it takes," I stepped into the hall as Greg found his key and shut and locked his door. The lights were dimmed in the hallway as he headed for the elevator.

"Good luck with that, sir. You might need it," he called to me as the door opened and the familiar ding rang in my ears.

"Thank you, Greg," He smiled behind his foot thick glasses and disappeared behind a chrome door.


	6. Chapter 6

On Wednesday, the day of the week I find the least stimulating of them all, I found a very elegant black invitation with silver letters sitting on my desk along with the monthly subsidiary finance report. Confused enough to wonder but not concerned enough to jump on it, I put my coat on the hook behind my door and sat down at my desk while I pushed buttons on my desktop phone.

"Hey," I said when Dobbs picked up. "I was wondering if Communications has reported anything?"

"No ma'am. They seem to be getting no reply. I think it's possible Mr. Veidt will have to go out on a limb to secure them."

"I wonder, is that safe for him?" I thought aloud.

"How do you mean?" Dobbs asked.

"I mean, will that lose us any creditability?"

"What, with the government?" I rolled my eyes.

"The government is not concerned with creditability, Dobbs. I mean with other corporations. Not all of them are run by rich dolts who can't see past their own noses. What if we try to rope in a savvy executive? It could lose us some face."

"Oh…." Dobbs seemed surprised. "Well, I think Mr. Veidt is subtle enough to make it seem quite a bit more like leisure than business. But if I know him, he will get some business done anyway,"

"I hope you're right. I haven't been here as long as you have, I don't know him as well," I conceded. "Thanks a lot."

"Of course, ma'am." He hung up, always the first one to hang up. Very businesslike, Dobbs. I can certainly appreciate that.

I then remembered the invitation. I picked it up, feeling the white ribbon between my fingers as I read it.

_All Dept Coordinators are invited to_

_A party_

_To celebrate the coming possibilities_

_Of Veidt International_

_And the world itself_

_Located at _

_Giabella's in downtown NYC_

_On Friday, February 3rd_

_Beginning at 8 PM_

_We hope to see you all there. _

_Please RSVP with Susan at the front desk lobby_

_By noon on Friday_

I blinked at it, several emotions hitting me at once. The prevalent one should have been 'I hope this is as subtle as Dobbs promised.' But I felt my mind wandering to dresses… shoes…


	7. Chapter 7

The club is more elegant and less flashy than is usual. She is led through the crowds of people towards a spiral stair case leading up to the top floor VIP room. Her dress is a luscious shade of royal purple, catching the eye of many a clubgoer as she ascends the stairs. Her hair falls in thick waves about her face, tumbling over her shoulders. She gazes up as she emerges into the VIP room, which is much more cozy and rich than the club below, all red satin and mahogany. The dance music is very muffled, and a sweeping violin dances through the air. There is a wood dance floor, shining so that it nearly reflects the room.

Her eyes dance from figure to figure as a few glasses are raised in welcome, a few smiles are pointed in her direction. The cocktail dresses are all silk and satin and tulle, mostly in black but also in blue, magenta, brown, dark red. The men are in tuxedos, one particularly large older man with grey hair and glasses wears a white tuxedo. He grins at her too widely for her tastes as she makes her way through the room towards the table full of champagne flutes.

As the men and women that all look by far too wealthy for their own good slowly slide, one by one, out of her field of vision, Adrian Veidt emerges into her sight, dressed in a slick all-black tuxedo and holding a bottle of champagne. He looks up, and the sight of her seems to startle him. She stifles a giggle, smiling at him. He smiles back and plucks the cork from the bottle with little effort. Gesturing towards her, he pours two glasses. She slips between the business executives and kept wives and takes the flute he offers to her.

"Great party, boss," she says slyly, giving him a smile that says she guesses his motives. She sips the champagne.

"Why thank you, Miss Craig. Very pleased you could make it," he replies, and his charisma is really on tonight. He does not sip his champagne, only looks at her as she casts about among the crowd for a familiar face.

"I don't suppose I know very many people here," she says. His eyes are on her pale neck, her purple gown, her strong but open face framed by the dark river of her hair.

"Well I shall have to introduce you," he smiles. She turns back to look at him, her grey eyes lighting on his feet and flickering up until she meets his gaze. He is trim and masculine in his black attire, his blonde hair swept back from his face to let his blue eyes carry out their full, hypnotic effect. The businessman and the director are two brilliant lights, their energy flying between and through them. There is a fit of laughter from a group of businessmen and women near the dance floor.

"You shall, I suppose," she says, and he holds out his arm. She takes it, and they slowly walk towards the group that is laughing.

*

A crystalline sound rings out over the room, and all conversation falls quiet as Adrian clears his throat and addresses the crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he begins, throwing his most charming smile towards the ladies. "I bid you welcome to my little party, which I can only call a manifestation of my hope for the future," His eyes glance off of every businessman in the room. "I believe you are all ready to invest in the welfare of your children and your children's children. I believe that you are all ready to take the remains of this disaster into your hands and make from it a more beautiful world. And I want to thank you for allowing me to help you," There is some applause. His face is emotionless but convincing.

"Thank you. I hope you all enjoy yourselves here tonight." He pauses, and a small smile lingers on his face, slightly more devious than the last one. "Band?" he asks the musicians on the platform by the dance floor, "Will you play a song for me? A dance?" The musician who sits on a stool with his guitar in his lap looks a bit amused at this, and nods to the smartest man in the world. He waves at his band mates.

"And… Miss Craig?" he asks, and his eyes shoot to the figure of his Head of Micromanagements, who stands with poise in her body and surprise on her face. "Will you allow me a dance?"

She gazes at him, unsure of how to react. He smiles at her. The band begins to play a song that is sweet and melodic, a Spanish violin playing as a deep upright bass provides its tempo.

"Of course, Mr. Veidt," she replies, and smiles to him as well. There are uplifted brows and smiles as he takes her hand and leads her to the floor. The man on guitar takes up the melody with the violin and begins to sing.

More couples join the first, but for all that it mattered they could have been the only people in the entire city. For once her eyes do not pierce him steadily but dance from watching her feet to smiling at him uncertainly. He holds one of her hands and rests the other on her hip, and she rests her other hand on his shoulder.

"Adrian, I am a terrible dancer," she says lowly to him.

"You seem to be doing just fine," he says matter-of-factly. She shakes her head and laughs lowly. They are silent for a while, and she rests her head on his chest and lets him lead her in their tiny circle. He sighs and rests his cheek on her head of soft, dark hair. The world fades, their bodies linger. She can feel his breath softly touch her face, and she hopes that her chest is not heaving. He cradles her, closer than his logic advises. The song fades, and she pulls away from him.

"Thank you… Adrian." she says slowly, emerging from a dream.

"Thank you, Miss Craig," he replies, inclining his head to her and not letting their gazes break. She feels her chest grow tight- she has to escape it, for a moment. Just a moment.

"Eira," she says, smiling at him. "Call me Eira," His face brightens, and she turns away and makes a beeline for the restroom. Locking the door behind her, she backs up against the wall, closes her eyes and lets out a deep breath.

"That shouldn't have happened…" she sighs.


	8. Chapter 8

Seven days have passed since Adrian's party in downtown, and I haven't seen a hair of him since. The word around the office is that he's in Antarctica managing his energy machine (which may or may not exist, as it were.)

All I can feel, when the moment is empty and I am left to my own thoughts, is his hand in my hand and his breath tickling my cheek. When the phone rings or someone knocks on my door it's like I've been caught doing something very private, my cheeks flush and I must steady myself before continuing with the business at hand.

There are three major companies, one a construction company, who are talking with the Communications about merging. There are half a dozen others who are thinking of supporting our subsidiaries and possibly cutting land deals in Beijing. One of those, I noticed when I was reading the report, was McDonald's. I remember a feeling of irony creeping up on me at that moment, but even as I was reading my reports and making a note on my calendar to talk to Dobbs about getting into contact with some executives, the feeling of his hand on my waist and back sweeps me out of my chair and, for a glimmer of imaginary time, into his arms.

Then, I shook my head with violence and continued to scribble on my desk.

* * *

I was at home in my tiny shabby apartment Saturday evening when the phone rang.

I'm pretty much alone in this world, except for my cat, so someone ringing my apartment is almost totally unheard of. I picked up the phone, half expecting a telemarketer.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Eira?" a smooth voice asked, bright with enthusiasm. I realized with a start that it was Adrian, but I wanted to play dumb for some unfathomable reason.

"Yes?" I replied. "Who is this?"

"Adrian Veidt," he responded automatically.

"Oh! I'm sorry Mr. Veidt, I've never heard your voice on the phone before," I said innocently.

"It's fine, I assure you. I was wondering if it's not too late to ask you to brunch tomorrow morning," he said, absolutely not dancing around anything and with a tone that glowed with some secret joy.

"Tomorrow? When?"

"Oh, ten o'clock, say? At Mary's, downtown. They have an excellent Eggs Benedict." He was persuasive without even trying, or I was a fool. More than likely the latter.

"Oh, well… I haven't got anything going on… I suppose that I can make it," I said, startled right out of my coherent mind. This was so blunt, and bluntness was not something I attributed to Adrian Veidt.

"Well I think you should be sure," he said matter-of-factly.

"Ah… I'm sure…" I mumbled. "I can be there."

"This isn't an executive order, Miss Craig," he said with a smile in his voice. "You can deny me if it suits you," While he tried to sound jovial for this last statement, there was a kind of hollowness creeping into his tone.

"It's certainly alright, Adrian," I laughed. "I would likely have told you first thing if I didn't _want _to go,"

"Oh," he sounded cheered. "Well, then, I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Of course," I said. "Bon soir, monsieur,"

"Au revior, mon chéri," he said. My face was hot as he hung up the phone. The receiver in my hand fell to the sheets of my bed. I felt my innards twirl in a dance of uncertain but undeniable bliss.

And then I crashed to earth.

"Jesus, JESUS, what I am doing? This is… this is bad. I can't date my boss. Christ…"

My cat came by and mewed at me, and she seemed almost to smile mischievously.


	9. Chapter 9

The day was perfect, beautiful. It was chilly but not too chilly and a balcony table gave a nice view of the park next door. I sat, slightly afraid that she would stand me up. I have never feared that a woman would do this before, so I still am not sure where the impulse came from.

The waiter had brought my coffee and it now sat getting cool as I scanned the streets ravenously for a glimpse of her pale face or dark curls.

Then, a taxi pulled up and she climbed out, handing the driver a ten and turning towards the stairs up to the entrance. I felt this ridiculous smile erupt over my face and pushed it down in favor of a composed expression. My stomach shifted and turned in its place uneasily.

The waiter led her in, and she cast about for me. She was in a long black coat and pair of black heels as well, her hair drifting about her face in the light breeze. I arose and smiled, and she smiled back.

"Morning, Adrian," she said, smiling like a spring morning. I pulled out her chair for her.

"Bon martin to you as well, Eira," I replied and she sat down, looking slightly uncomfortable that I was doing something for her.

"This place is charming," she said, smiling at the twinkling white lights that decorated the balcony ceiling and rail. The place was like a room missing a wall, and through the missing wall there was a street and a green meadow and trees of Central Park.

"It is a lovely spot," I conceded. The waiter promptly returned.

"What will you have to drink, madam?" he asked with a kind of overly sweet admiration of her.

"A black coffee, please, and a water," she said. The boy shuffled off, struck by cupid's arrow. I couldn't help but laugh.

"What?" she demanded.

"Our waiter has quite the crush on you," I smirked.

"I know," she seemed exasperated. "Little boys always seem to,"

* * *

Towards eleven we ordered liquored coffee and the wind died down, leaving the air pleasant. I had taken off my jacket and she had discarded her overcoat to reveal a silver silk shirt that made her seem icy in complexion and almost rivaled the grey of he eyes. She sipped her Irish cream, looking at the park. A silence, but not really an awkward one, had fallen over our table. I watched her neck as she looked from the park to around the little restaurant, and then to me. It was so pale, almost ivory.

"Eira," I said suddenly and seriously. I had to get to the point.

"Yes, Adrian?" she asked, and her face was open and curious.

"I wanted to ask you something rather important," I began, clearing my throat a little.

"Well, feel free," she said with a smile. But my face must've made her wonder how serious this was and she knitted a brow at me.

"There's a ball coming up, actually," I said, beating my nervousness away. "It's for the merger of Veidt International and Micron Corporation. The President wants to throw it, for whatever reason. It's at the Viridian Hotel," I saw her freeze, as if she was unsure of what she wanted me to ask.

"What of it?" she inquired.

"I was wondering… well, _hoping_," I said, "that you would consent to be my, ah, date," She seemed shocked beyond words for a moment. My heart caught in my throat as I watched an instant's worth of many emotions flash over her face.

"Well… Mr. Veidt…" she began.

"You always call me 'Mr. Veidt' when I am asking you something," I said, smiling at her. She looked at me, and her grey eyes danced. She smiled too.

"I do… I do. Alright, Adrian. I guess…" she paused for a moment that stretched into eternity. "I think it would be an honor to attend with you," Smiling. I felt both assured and uneasy.

"But, do you accept my offer?" I prodded. She laughed like a wind chime.

"Of course, I accept. What is the dress code?" My relief washed over me and settled in a warm place in my stomach.

"Formal, actually."


	10. Chapter 10

Outside an apartment building it is dark. The other side of the building is bathed in light from the streets, but he stands in a darker corner. The wind is low and chilly and the air smells like snow.

There are footsteps on the terrace above his head. He catches a female figure descending the stairs and he turns the corner to the lighted side of the building. Waving at his limo chauffeur, he stands waiting for her to emerge.

"Bet she looks a wonder, sir," says the limo driver, a pleasant looking black guy with a cheerful grey mustache.

"She always does," he responds dreamily.

"You look a sight yourself, Mr. Veidt," the driver says. And indeed, the world's smartest man is sharp in his tuxedo that is black with a rich burgundy vest and gleaming black Italian shoes. His blonde hair is swept back again, his face is clean shaven and he is all elegance in his posture.

"Thanks," the businessman says, just as a black shoe emerges from around the shadowy corner. Then she steps into the light almost shyly. Her skin is alabaster pale against her luscious dark red gown, which falls shoulderless from her chest and gathers like sea foam at her feet. In her ears are pearl drops, and her hair is all waves and soft curls around her pale face. She smiles at him, clutching her small purse, unsteady in her finery. He is breathless for a moment.

"You look…" he begins, staring at her in unabashed wonder. "…like an absolute goddess," Her face flushes pink and she smiles, looking away from him.

"Thank you," She looks back. "You look very handsome,"

"But you will steal all glances away from me, I'm afraid," he smiles, and steps towards the limo. Her hands are on his for a moment.

"One moment," she says, and then she opens her clutch and pulls out a small barely opened rose. The businessman is startled and smiles as she creeps closer to him and delicately sticks the flower in his lapel. Slowly her eyes rise up to meet his, and he smiles at her and brushes his lips against her forehead and turns her around to where the driver has gotten out and opened the limo door. She steps in and sits delicately, and he sits beside her. The driver is whistling cheerfully as he climbs back in and steers the car out of the driveway and into the long New York night.

* * *

The hotel has been stuffed full of people before, but never have they looked so elegant. The room that has been rented is decked out in an antique style, and a long table of punch and hors d'oeuvres is manned by a tiny force of waiters. Subsidiary executives, department managers and fellow businessmen invited on friendly terms are sliding in and out of groups, chatting with wives and a few daughters and husbands. There is a miniature orchestra playing gentle music. Outside, the stars twinkle above a rose garden which has been opened to the guests and a few couples and groups are wandering about in its pale glimmering lights and sighing fountains. It is obvious that the entire room is a massive dancing hall, but it is too early for the orchestra to be playing dances.

Adrian Veidt walks in, smiling but not overexerting himself, glancing constantly from the guests to the magnetic woman on his arm. He doesn't lead her, as he usually leads his women, but rather she consents to take his arm and walk with him into the melee. She smiles one or twice at him but casts about in wonder mostly. Smiling with the joy of seeing beautiful people, a beautiful room, and beautiful lights, and concealing with effort the beating of her chest, this woman goes with her escort towards the President of Micron Corps.

"Veidt!" booms a tall man with a chiseled face and dark hair, smiling with slightly intoxicated cheer. "The man of the hour!" They shake hands in a brotherly fashion, and then his eyes turn to Eira.

"And hello, who have we here?" he asks, taking Eira's free hand and kissing it. "You are most welcome, madam," He is drawn to her, and he has also noticed that she is standing with her own energy, independent of Adrian, and this makes him wonder.

"Thank you, sir," she says, and it is polite but not entirely warm.

"This is Eira Craig, my Head of Micromanagements," Adrian explains. "Eira, this is Mr. Morgan, the President of Micron Corporation."

"It is very much an honor to meet you," Eira says graciously. The dark man smiles and inclines his head to her.

"It is more to me to have seen you tonight, madam, for you brighten this entire city!" he says, and there is something jolly in his exaggeration.

"Flattery will get you everywhere, Morgan," Adrian says, smiling and barely concealing his testy annoyance. "Come, Eira, let's get you to the coatroom to put away your things," They steer through the crowd to a small back room full of coat racks. Eira places her small purse and a scarf she had wrapped her shoulders in on a hanger, and turns to Adrian.

"This is a rather grand party, sir. I am very flattered you wanted me to accompany you here,"

"Eira, you don't have to be formal with me. Just everyone else," he smiles at her, and takes her hand. There is a moment of stillness, and though neither of them move there is a feeling of crouching before the spring. Then she sighs and makes for the doorway, pulling Adrian along with her. They emerge into the party again, and a dance is playing. Couples have taken the floor.

"Let's investigate the buffet," she whispers conspiratorially into his ear, and they make their way over to sample the fare. A man and his wife, both of some age, are watching the couples as they stand near the punch bowl.

"It's so lovely to see the young enjoying themselves," the man said as Eira poured herself a tiny glass of punch. "I daresay, after the tragedy, it's less common." Adrian looks uneasy, and clutches his punch glass as he eyes the dancers with intent.

"They do look like flowers in the breeze," says his wife, smiling in her old blue eyes.

"Or perhaps a flock of birds dancing above a lake," Eira suggests. Adrian watches her silently as she interacts with these two dignified gentlepeople.

"You have an elegant tongue, young miss," smiles the old man. "Who are you attending with?"

"Adrian Veidt asked me here. I've never seen a finer conglomeration of gentlemen and gowns,"

"See the garden later, if you think this room is fine," says the old woman. "And why indeed are you not dancing? You are a rose amongst wildflowers,"

"Thank you," smiled Eira, turning pink. "I may dance before the night is over,"

"You will, indeed," says Adrian suddenly, putting his glass of punch on the table and taking Eira's hand. For a moment all they can see is each other, and the old woman looks at the old man and they smile knowingly.

"I would say," says the woman, "That tonight is a night of opportunities. I do hope they are all seized,"

"I agree wholeheartedly, madam," says Adrian to her, his eyes alight.


	11. Chapter 11

The music wound down, the couples drew out of the center of the room and to tables to sit and rest. I remembered the speech which Mr. Morgan made next in a blur only, punctuated by phrases and words of slightly more importance than the rest. There was a bottle of champagne opened, I had a few glasses at my table as Adrian brought them to me, and stood and took a bow on cue at some point during the speech.

The night is all a blur until the dance, really.


	12. Chapter 12

I am not sure what I did up until the dance, myself. I know at least that I declined to make a speech. Who needs two speeches at a party, anyway? One is quite enough. My head is full of her sweet scent, her soft dark eyes which beckon me into their depths. Sometimes it's hard to look.

All I can focus on, in memory, is our dance.


	13. Chapter 13

In a whirl of colors and shapes, a dazzling pool of reflected brilliance, they are two stars. He clutches her closely, cradling her form with his hands and arms. She is almost enough to make him forget what he has done.

She rests within his grasp, clinging to him as to a thread of life. He erases her mistakes for a moment, all of her memories that she refuses to relive seem incapable of ever rising to horrify her again. They are flashes of fire, the center of an unfocused world of alcohol and satin and fine polished wood and the heady smell of desserts.


	14. Chapter 14

I ran from that cradle of warmth of which I was so afraid. I ran to the roses, beautiful and impersonal and unthreatening. My heart pounded in my ears and in my hands. I felt myself glow, alight with the joy and also with the uncertainty, the walls I had built around myself since I was a small child melted away like fog in the morning.

The lights of the garden twinkled outside and all around me, the cool air pierced my lungs with undeniable life and tangible realism. There was nothing fantastical here, nothing which might be dashed from me at any moment.

"Eira!" he called after me. I could feel him enter, with his life giving warmth, into the chilly world.

"Eira, what's wrong?" he asked, and his pain and confusion were discords that I could not stand to hear.

"Adrian, what are we doing?" I demanded, not looking at him as much as I wanted to.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I mean… Christ. I don't know. What is this?"

"This is… well, I thought you would enjoy it,"

"Oh…" I felt my gut wrench. "Adrian, it's so lovely."

A silence hung in the air and I felt his eyes on me, uncertain.


	15. Chapter 15

"This is all pretty ridiculous," she said, shattering the crystal silence and looking at me.

"It is… really," I said, and then another silence. I couldn't help but break it. "I don't know what to do, Eira,"

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"You are such a wonder to me," I confessed. "I'm not sure if you love me or hate me, or if you are happy here or not,"

"I…" she stopped, searching for words. "Oh, Christ. I have been such a woman, haven't I?"

"I have never met a woman like you," I replied. My heart was throbbing, hurting almost. She smiled shyly.

"I have never met a man quite like you, either," she said, and she drew up to me and took my hands. I felt all of my body shoot through with lightening, I couldn't stop my smile.


	16. Chapter 16

The stars dance over them. He is close to her, very close. She does not turn away or shrink back, but only looks into his eyes because she can look nowhere else. The music wafts down out of the ballroom and ripples through the garden.

His face is close, getting closer but too slowly for her to see, it merely advances and fills her vision. She has already filled his, intoxicated him, infuriated him, there is nothing else they can do when drawing together is so effortless.

"I'm glad you came," he said softly to her, barely above a breath.

"Me too," she replied, smiling.

Everything slows down. She doesn't see it move, but his hand touches her soft cheek more gently than the wind. Their lips are barely a breath away.

Suddenly they can hear a sharp, metallic _click_.


	17. Chapter 17

Time stopped. My senses, befuddled by her closeness, had missed the man's advance. His threat to her now sent them spiraling into hyperawareness. I knew, in less than an instant, that he was going to shoot her.

The second and half that I had to act left me time only to shove Eira bodily to the ground and grab the bullet before it could shatter my own skull. I spiraled down to redirect the bullet's kinetic energy, my hand ablaze with numbing pain. I heard other gunshots and panic seized me, but when I looked up I saw our attacker on the ground and a parade of guards flooded past me towards him.

I heard a moan dragging on a ragged breath beside me and looked to find Eira spread-eagled on the concrete landing, her eyes sparkling with the garden lights but unfocused.

"Adrian…" she whispered. Crawling to her with my wounded hand tucked into my jacket, I felt fear seize me.

"Eira, are you alright?" I asked her as gently as I could. For a long moment she was silent, drawing in uneven breaths. Then she looked at me and mustered a small smile.

"Going to be a big bruise," she murmured. I felt relief swell up within me and smiled at her.

"I'm sorry. I had to get you out of his way,"

"I know." She looked around but could see very little. Looking back at me, her brows furrowed a little and pain took her eyes. "I don't think I can move my arm right now," Panic again.

"Is it broken? It really should be, what with how hard I had to push you."

"It's not," she said. "But my artery might be in trouble." This caused the fear to resurge, and before I thought a second more about it I untucked my shirt and ripped a large strip off of the bottom of it to use as a tourniquet.

"I'm not going to risk it. We have to stop the blood flow until I can take you to a hospital." I said to her. She only nodded meekly and shut her eyes against the garden lights.

* * *

The hospital was busy, but it was oddly quiet in her room. I saw figures moving and bustling with all their energy beyond the glass, but I heard only the gentle blipping of her heart monitor and the soft breaths as she slept, exhausted and in pain. A bruise was beginning to flourish, deep and black and frighteningly large, along her upper arm and shoulder.

The memory of the attack left me frustrated and confused. I had been entirely too at ease to miss the man's approach. It was possible that that could be forgiven, since I had no reason at all to suspect an attempt on my Head of Micromanagement's life. But that was the most disturbing thing- why had this even taken place?

The most remote of connections I could make was the empty file on her parents, but that told me next to nothing and might not in fact have anything to do with this murder attempt.

A rustling from the hospital bed turned my thoughts from the troubling to the soothing, and I watched as Eira's unbruised arm tucked the sheet closer to her in a slow sleep movement. I stared at her pale skin and the face made of planes which seemed now to be soft but could take on purposeful angles when necessary. Her dark lashes curled against her cheeks in the drug-induced sleep. She hadn't taken on the peaceful look of a person in true relaxation, in fact she seemed merely still, save her occasional arm movement or head turn.

I wondered if perhaps I gazed upon a cherub or a cleverly disguised demon, and while my analytical mind was screaming for me to jump and make distance between us, my heart seemed inclined to argue.


	18. Chapter 18

I hate hospitals.

It's worse when you think to yourself, Oh gee, I almost got shot in the head and was narrowly saved by my boss – whom, I might add, I had every intention of kissing before this happened. My arm is in a sling recovering from a minor surgery where they had to repair the tissue of my artery before the internal bleeding got out of hand.

He smelled kind of funny, like maybe he was wearing cologne but it couldn't have been very strong. He just smells like a man. It was really lovely…

Shit. What is going on?

* * *

"Do you have any enemies that you know of, Miss Craig?"

The detective's face is craggy and a grey 5 o'clock shadow is dappled over his chin. I am struggling to think of any friends I have, let alone people who would want to kill me.

"None that I am aware of, sir," I say, trying to remain toneless.

"Anything happen recently that may have made you some enemies?" His eyebrow is lifted quizzically and I wonder if he expects me to blurt out that I have recently be dabbling in cocaine and yes, it's possible that my dealer is angry with me and could you please check me into rehab, sir? Or something equally as stupid.

"No," I said. I felt the tautness creeping into my voice. "Unless being seen with Adrian- er, Mr. Veidt, could inadvertently put me in harm's way," I saw a look creep into the detective's eyes and he glanced towards the lobby where Adrian is sitting. He looked composed but I read the subtle signs of his nervousness.

"Are you aware that your parents have no file, Miss Craig?" asks the detective, holding a drab brown folder up before me.

"Well, I never remember having any parents," I replied. It was my eyebrow's turn to lift. "I just lived with my governess Anne in my childhood home." This made the detective's expression cloud with puzzlement. He put the folder on his desk and tapped his foot as if waiting for inspiration for his next question.

"I don't think there's much you can do to help me, Miss, seeing as your record is spotless and there is nothing within our knowledge or possession to incriminate you or Mr. Veidt. You can go home," he said, stroking his unshaven chin and looking out the window at the buildings of New York City around the police station. I rose and picked up my purse with my good arm and left the office, and everything about the building was grey and angry as I entered the lobby and Adrian rose to greet me.

"How was it?" he asked, a knit in his brow betraying his concern.

"I'm fine, but I have nothing to help them pinpoint a source for the whole thing. I doubt if they ever get very far on the case," I replied. Adrian led me out of the police station and towards his car, which was being driven by his blonde secretary.

"Take us to Miss Craig's apartment, please," he told her in a cool, collected voice. We rode in silence, the air static and my ears ringing with the politeness of everything that Adrian was doing. The impersonal politeness.

"Eira, I hope you can make it to work in the morning," he said, and there was a question in his statement.

"I think I'll be alright. I can still type," I said, flexing my fingers and attempting a smile.

"Let me know if you have any problems," he replied, but he didn't look at me. He watched the road. I felt a lump rise in my throat.

"Okay," I managed to say quietly and without any inflection. My apartment building loomed up ahead of us on the right.

"Here," he said to his secretary, who promptly pulled in and parked in the back of the building. I walked stiffly from the car towards the stairs, but felt him following me. When I had reached the top floor and my apartment door, we were high enough up and far enough away that I couldn't even see his car. Putting my key into the lock, I tried desperately not to look at him. The door gave way and just as I set foot over the threshold, the silence broke.

"Eira…" he said, and my name was a plea and a blessing. I stood utterly still for a moment. The wind picked up and lifted my hair, pushed strands of it in my face. I didn't want to turn. I was afraid I might cry.

"Eira," he said again, and it was gentle and coaxing. I slowly stepped back and turned, looking at his feet in their shiny black shoes.

"Are you alright?" he asked me, and I saw his hand twitch beside him. I blinked slowly to make sure no tears came and then looked at him.

"I'm fine, Adrian, really," I said, pushing the fringes of a smile up to my lips.

"Are you sure?" His brow revealed no nervous twitch now, only a concerned wrinkle. One of his large hands touched my cheek.

"I think so. I just wish that I knew," I sighed.

"I know; me too," he replied, and a small smile graced his lips. I smiled. He kissed my forehead the way he had before the ball, and then his hand fell back to his side and he turned and walked away, giving me one last look before he descended the stairs.

My heart heaved and sagged in my chest, and I went inside.


End file.
